


the pull of the moon

by riposte (pistolgrip)



Category: Granblue Fantasy (Video Game)
Genre: Awkward Boners, Coming To Terms With The Fact That You May Have An Unfortunate Crush On The Leader Of The Eternals, Day At The Beach, Fluff, Hot Springs & Onsen, M/M, Resolved Sexual Tension, Sharing a Room, it's got it all!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-26
Updated: 2018-05-26
Packaged: 2019-05-10 02:11:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14727983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pistolgrip/pseuds/riposte
Summary: There's only so much Six can expect from a summer vacation with the Eternals if Siete is directly involved, and yet he still finds a way to be surprised by the man.





	1. high tide

**Author's Note:**

> **[01:05] horny goblin ass:** six orders me to take off my unfashionable speedo and i'm wearing a worse one underneath it. everyone in the eternals groans at my shit  
>  **[01:05] two gremlin conans:** >SIX ORDERS ME TO TAKE OFF MY SPEEDO
> 
>  
> 
> edit [03/2019]: it's been almost an entire year and i just realized i was using "fif" instead of "funf". so much for consistency o(-<

A familiar voice is calling his name; that much he can hear between the incessant banging on his door.

Six shoots up immediately and grabs the mask off his bedside table, cursing himself. He’s only let himself get comfortable with the idea of not sleeping in full armour for a few months, and he’s already regretting the decision, immediately assuming the worst. He still wears his underclothes, so he throws on what he can of his chest armour, equips his claws, and opens the door, panting.

Siete is there, looking incredibly not-panicked, with a beach ball under his arms and a more... _offensive_ appearance than usual. “Oh, huh. Were you sleeping?”

Speechless for at least a few seconds, Six wills himself to maintain eye contact and _not_ down at the worst part of Siete’s outfit. “It’s hardly morning.”

“Yeah, today’s beach day. Remember?”

Six gently extends a claw so it punctures the beach ball. They both watch it deflate under Siete’s arm. “No.”

“Party pooper,” he says, tossing the deflated beach ball in Six’s room. “Look, you’re going, and that’s final. Last year it was just three of us, and that was kinda boring.”

“I heard from Song there was a whole mission.”

“Mission, schmission—look, Six, it’s the beach. Hot babes, hot dudes, ice cream, what’s not to love?”

Six doesn’t even pretend to contemplate it. “Will you be there?”

“Uh, yeah?”

“Then the answer to your question is ‘you’, and whatever horrific _thing_ you’re wearing.”

“Oh, this?” Siete hooks a thumb in his speedo and smacks it. Six lifts his eyes to the ceiling immediately, and deciding he wants none of it, starts to close the door. “Wait, wait wait wait,” Siete says, jamming a foot in. “You’ve never been to the beach before, have you?”

“There were no beaches on Karm. Swamps, perhaps, which you seem much more suited to.”

“Then let’s go. It’s an _actual_ vacation for the Eternals this time—” and here, Siete mutters something under his breath— “we’ve got rooms at an inn that’s smaller, so no crowds.”

Six frowns. “What was that?”

“We’ve got rooms booked already?”

“Before that.”

“It’s an actual vacation?”

“Siete.”

“Alright, alright, not _all_ of the Eternals are coming.” For a moment, Siete looks disappointed about it, nothing like his normal bravado, but it’s gone so fast Six thinks he imagined it. He won’t— _can’t_ let it guilt trip him. “Song and Sarasa are coming again because they had a blast last year, and that’s a vote of confidence if I ever heard one. Funf’s coming too. If you come, that makes half of us.”

“Not interested.” Six starts pushing the door harder on Siete’s foot.

“C’mon, I’ll be lonely.”

“I have no interest in rectifying that.”

From down the hallway of the base, he hears Funf’s voice, thick with sleep but still excited, calling for the two of them. “Listen,” Siete says, wincing at the pressure Six is putting on his foot, “you’ll break her heart.”

He doesn’t care. He tells himself he doesn’t care. He doesn’t care, because the beach smells of salt and the heat makes him feel sticky, and the metal of his mask heats up too fast under direct sunlight, and there are too many people that think the beach is a good idea at this time of year. He opens his mouth, letting Siete know exactly what he thinks about the whole idiotic plan. “...I’m not doing this for you.”

Siete throws a fist in the air. “Score! Pack some clothes and let’s go!” He leans against the doorjamb after pushing the door open in Six’s surrender, and Six feels his eyes on him as he turns around.

He takes his claws off and places them back on his bed, looking at his drawers. While the others might have plain clothes, he’s never felt the need to own any—at least, he never cared much about variation. Most of the clothes he has are various shades of dark grey, all with long sleeves and pant legs to cover up as much skin as possible.

Summer is in full force, and even he knows that he’ll burn up if he’s forced to wear these while on the trip. Without turning around, in a small voice, he asks, “...What do I bring?”

“Do you not have any clothes?”

Six pulls his drawer all the way out and steps to the side, wordlessly showcasing the shadow of fabric inside.

“Oh. Hold on, I got something for you, probably.” When Siete walks away, he’s left staring at the empty doorway, wondering whether there’s any ancient Karm magic he could use as protection he could use against Siete and his bad ideas. Something simple, like a line of salt, or some chalk drawings right in the doorway.

It’s while he’s contemplating this that the complete opposite of Siete in every respect walks in; Funf waves, staff in hand and already dressed for the beach, and hops up on the edge of his bed. “Six, are you coming?”

No, no, _no_ —“Yes.”

“Good,” she yawns, closing her eyes, “because I wanted to go last year, but gramps said no, but now that there’s more of us, it’s okay...” She crawls more onto the bed and, feeling the warmth Six’s sleeping body left behind, she curls into it.

It’s a fairly early morning, so he understands her sleepiness; still, she’s starting to drift off on his bed, and his hands flail about as he wonders whether he should nudge her awake or not. Siete walks back in with a bag and switches to tiptoeing when he sees Funf.

“This stuff is yours,” he whispers, putting the bag by the doorway, “can you carry Funf? Great.” Without waiting for an answer, Siete walks out, leaving Six still staring at her falling farther and farther into sleep every second he doesn’t wake her up.

He packs a few things into the backpack before putting it on; with a bit of contemplation, he decides to lift Funf up and carry her over his shoulder. Song immediately sees this and frowns at him, mimicking the motion of rocking a baby in her arms, and he rearranges Funf so she’s, presumably, a little more comfortable.

* * *

The vacation island isn’t too far off from where they’re staying, so it’s still morning by the time their small ship docks on a less-populated edge. The inn they’re staying at is small, like Siete promised, and not too far from the water; there’s a small paved road that separates the front of the inn from the sand.

All the better that the inn is small, since they’re a mismatched bunch: Six is still in half Eternals garb, terrifying mask and all, carrying a small sleeping Harvin in his hands. Song and Sarasa are in more summery clothes already, and they turn heads naturally in two different ways (one for her beauty and the other for her... enthusiasm).

And... Siete.

They check in, claiming two rooms; one for the girls, and the other for him and Siete. Six doesn’t remember the last time he’s ever had to share sleeping quarters with anyone; he’s tempted to stay up all night instead and sleep when the rest are at the beach during the day so he can be alone in the room, but he knows as a matter of fact the company he’s with for the next few days won’t allow that.

He’s the only one not dressed for the beach yet, so the others make their way to the front of the inn and wait for him. Truthfully, Six is a little worried about what he’ll find in the bag of clothes Siete managed to gather for him, but shockingly, the clothes are normal enough. There are a few white shirts, both short-sleeved and long-sleeved, pairs of jeans that he doubts will fit him, a light sweater, and the optimistic inclusion of swimming trunks.

There’s really no choice now. He changes into one of the short-sleeved shirts, struggles with one of the pairs of jeans, and shrugs on the sweater for good measure, zipping it up to his chin, and hopes for the best when he puts the hood up.

To his surprise, there are already holes for his ears cut out, and he wiggles them through. Siete had more or less made all the outfits for the Eternals, which included the cape that Six wore normally that covered up his ears. He takes the sweater off to look at the holes in the hood again, and they don’t look hastily cut out in the slightest, edges of the holes sewn in neatly.

“When did you even make this,” he mutters to himself, running his finger along the dark blue material, before putting it back on. Somehow, the observation makes the sweater even more snug around his body, and he zips it back up all the way to his chin.

The mask comes on, as always, and after a moment’s consideration, he wears his greaves and straps his claws on. The clothes are—with the odd exception of the sweater—slightly baggy on him, but that’s to be expected.

Everyone’s waiting for him at the bottom of the stairs; the second they see him, all conversation stops, and his hackles raise. Song is biting her lip as she smiles apologetically, Siete is looking upwards, looking like he’s about to laugh—and then Sarasa and Funf laugh anyway.

“What’s with the getup? We’re goin’ to a beach!” Sarasa cackles.

“All of you are still holding your weapons,” he says defensively, pointing at the sword on Siete’s belt, the bow slung across Song’s back. Sarasa is nonchalantly holding her axe over her shoulder, and Funf’s staff is constantly glowing with some sort of radiant energy. “I see no difference.”

“Aw, c’mon guys, leave him alone,” Song says, but she hides a smile behind one of her hands. “It’s enough that he came out here in the first place.”

“Listen, here’s an idea,” Siete starts.

“I feared the day where I would listen to one of your ideas again,” Six grinds out, “I didn’t think it’d be so soon.”

“You were wearing the leggings you normally do with your armour, right? Put those on and then put the shorts on top.” It would be sound advice, and Six might have actually appreciated it, if Siete wasn’t visibly tearing up trying to hold in laughter. “Those pants really aren’t your size and you... kinda look like you’re about to go into a cybergoth mosh pit.”

“What’s a mosh pit?” Funf asks, underneath Sarasa’s continuous laughter.

Song pats her on the head. “We’ll tell you when you’re older.”

Six is already regretting the decision he made to come, but for the sake of not delaying anything any longer, he changes so that they’ll leave him alone once he gets to the beach. It’s admittedly easier for him to move this way, with his regular leggings on and, after a moment’s consideration, he forgoes his greaves for the swimming trunks, still hooking his claws to them.

When he heads back downstairs again, Song pulls the zipper of his hoodie down until it’s halfway down his chest and then pats him on the back. “Looking good.”

Sarasa and Funf bound out of the inn, straight for the water. The road here seems seldom used, and they run across the asphalt and kick off their shoes once they hit the sand. Six watches as the other two set up umbrellas and towels, enough for the five of them.

The water reflects the sun so brightly Six is glad that his mask can shield some of the light, but he still pulls the hood over his eyes tighter and immediately sits underneath the umbrella. He brings his knees up to his chest and rests his chin on them, watching the water lap in and out. Song’s sat down with Funf and they’ve started to make a sandcastle together; Sarasa is swimming in the ocean, diving down underwater and... coming up with fish between her mouth.

The beach has nothing to offer him but sand in bad places and the sticky feeling he gets when he’s been out in the sun for too long. The idea of a vacation sends him on edge, makes him feel like he should be doing something instead.

Lowering his eyes to the sand beside him, he sees a hermit crab trotting along. It picks up every shell it can find, trying to find a new home to fit in, its current shell too small since it’s grown.

He picks up a spiral shell that looks slightly bigger than the one the hermit crab has right now and places it in its path. The hermit crab inspects it, and after a few minutes of testing out the size, it moves into the one Six placed down and continues on its merry way. It fills him with a sense of pride.

“Getting in the business of real estate?” Siete’s voice comes from behind him, and he doesn’t jump. He is, however, a tiny bit startled, both at the sudden noise and how invested he was in the hermit crab. He thinks Siete notices anyway, because he hears a chuckle, and he mentally curses at letting his guard down. “Anyway—check this out, I got something cool to show you.”

Six doesn’t know why he gets up and follows. Maybe he’s that in need of motion, an activity that’ll get him moving. Siete doesn’t say anything, just hums an indeterminate tune under his breath while he takes them closer to the rocky outcroppings, climbing over a few of them.

“Watch your step,” he says. “Don’t wanna be sued for any casualties.”

“I would be dead.”

“You’d find a way to get back at me, I’m sure.” Siete shoots a grin over his shoulder. “Okay, check this out.” Siete crouches down at what looks like a hole in the rock ground, and he follows suit. “You ever seen a tide pool?”

“I’ve never been to a beach,” Six says, but his voice is already losing some of its bite as he looks down into the tide pool. It’s teeming with life and more colourful than anything he’s ever seen in his life; experimentally, he waves a hand through the water, which disturbs some smaller fish, causing them to swim around faster. Starfish are climbing over the rock, and he didn’t even know that starfish were alive like that, and anemones are waving with the currents underwater.

He brings his other hand down so both of them are waving through the water, and belatedly, he looks up at Siete. He hasn’t sensed him move from that position, so he’s a bit thrown off for the second time that day to find Siete already looking at him, smiling.

Siete grins further when Six frowns behind his mask, and then he stands up with a small sigh. Six is face to face with the worst part of Siete’s outfit, and so he turns back to the tide pool, a decidedly better use of his ability of eyesight.

“Well, I’ll call you back when it’s lunchtime,” he says, walking off to where they came from. “Unless you want me to stick around?”

“I don’t think anything I’ve ever done has given indication that I enjoy your company.” It’s not entirely true, he reflects as Siete walks away; he _does_ appreciate that Siete’s brought him here, the variety of life in the pools of water bringing him some sort of relief. He still doesn’t feel right being able to relax, the reflection of his mask always there in the water, but it’s easy enough to wave a hand through and warp the image until he can see the sea life swimming around again.

Soon, the sun reaches its apex, and the intensity of the heat is proving too much for Six to stay in direct sunlight, making him sluggish and tired. He makes his way back to the umbrellas earlier and finds that Siete’s set up a grill, with fish already cooking that makes his mouth water. He’s got half a mind to sit down and eat something, but the combination of the heat along with the fact that he was woken up early makes him walk past the group and back towards the inn.

“Heh? You’re not eating?” Siete turns around and calls for him. “If you’re gonna head back to the room, at least take something to eat.”

“Yeah, check it out! I caught everything here,” Sarasa says proudly, hands on hips and smiling brightly. “There’s enough for all of us to eat for the next year!”

Song comes up to give him a paper plate of food. “Tired?”

“...I’m going to sleep,” he says, but he takes the plate of food and heads back to the room.

* * *

The sea breeze through the window is more of a comfort than it is an inconvenience, the warm air circulating and constantly moving. It’s easy for him feel drowsy since he’s more exhausted than he realizes, and he lays down on the futon rolled along the ground after kicking his shoes off and putting his claws off to the side, just within reach.

He’s planning to just lay down and rest his eyes, but when he wakes up a few hours later to the sound of the room’s door sliding open, he realizes his plan hasn’t worked how he expected. He’s not in the mood to talk just yet, so he lets Siete move around in the room and do what he needs to do.

Something with a bit of weight gets placed on the floor, and then he hears Siete rifling through something, the rustle of clothing making his ears twitch. He pretends to be asleep, and underneath the mask, he cracks his eyes open in the hopes of catching Siete trying to cause trouble.

Instead, he sees Siete holding a pair of shorts in his hands and a bright green shirt laying by his feet; the clothes he was wearing earlier in a pile off to the side, on top of his belt and sword. In other words, he sees Siete’s nearly naked body, and it’s not that it’s any different from whatever he was wearing earlier—and how he can walk around like that without being embarrassed, Six will never know—but it’s different this time, because he thinks Six is asleep, and he’s doing this when he thinks he isn’t being seen.

But he is. Six sees the way his back muscles ripple with the movement of putting his shorts on, the soft sigh he lets out when sits cross legged on the floor, half-facing Six, and he hears the small melody he hums as he buttons up the shirt and tucks in the front. He leans back on both his hands, sighing again, and looks to the window.

Six watches him. He needs to close his eyes and go back to sleep, but there’s always something so different about the way Siete conducts himself when he’s alone, quieter that he’d expect him to be, the ever-present smile only a hint on his face right now. The late afternoon sun hasn’t set yet, but it still warms his face, shadows like gentle brush strokes against his cheeks, and Six’s fingers twitch with the inexplicable urge to _touch_.

All Six does is watch. He watches Siete look out the window with a peaceful look on his face, quietly passing the time, his regular breathing lulling him back to sleep even when Six hears the girls’ footsteps outside their door and into the room next to them, conversations not withheld.

“That’s my cue,” Siete mutters to himself, and he sits back up and stretches his arms in front of him. He finally looks over at Six and he feels his heart stop as they make eye contact, not that Siete would know. “How do you sleep with that mask on?” he asks, in the same voice that tells Six he should still be pretending to be asleep.

He keeps his breathing steady as he can as Siete starts to reach out for not his face, but the top of his head. The hand stops and then he pulls it back, and Six feels the urge here too to move his head back towards him, as if—as if giving him _permission._ Six finally closes his eyes. It’s not enough that Siete has bad ideas, but his very presence is _giving_ Six bad ideas, ideas that he thought he’d successfully squashed long enough ago.

“Well, if you wake up with a headache, don’t blame me.”

He senses movement again and then—because Siete is full of surprises today—there’s one pat, two, three against his head, between his ears. He lets himself curl into the touch under the guise of sleep, and Siete huffs out a laugh.

“Curled up in the sun and everything, you’re like a cat. God, that’s cute.” The hand leaves and Six curls further, chasing the sensation, but Siete stands up instead and heads out the door and knocks on the girls’ room.

When their footsteps disappear, Six is wide awake. He sits up, takes off his mask, and groans into his hands.

* * *

It takes Six until the sun sets for him to regain his bearings, at which point he steps down to the main dining area and finds Song sitting there with a book. When she sees him, she smiles. “You awake? Sorry if we were loud earlier, we needed to grab something from our room, you know how loud they can get.”

He goes with the answer “I slept well enough”, trying valiantly to suppress his earlier memory of Siete.

“Well, we’re barbecuing on the beach tonight instead of eating here, so I said I’d wait for you instead. You ready?”

“As I’ll ever be.”

Song laughs. It’s more light and relaxed than he remembers of her, and the sound is enough to get him to relax, just a little bit. She seems happier in general, a little less sadness in the way she wishes for things, and so the smile she gives when they step out into the night puts him at ease.

The moon is still hugging the edge of the horizon and reluctantly, he disconnects his mask so he only has part of it covering his right eye. He holds onto the rest just in case, but he blinks away some of the brightness so he can see a little better.

It’s easier for him to take off his mask at dusk, at night. Years of wearing the mask must have had some sort of effect on his eyesight; he’s more sensitive to the light now, even if he’s a little more willing these days to do without the mask. Erunes generally have better night vision than others, but it seems increasingly like it’s all Six will have left after some time.

The others are already on the beach, with a small table set up and an array of food and drinks—some more of Sarasa’s catches, along with a few runs from a nearby convenience store, judging by the plastic bags.

Six goes to pick up a plate, but Siete stops him. “Nuh-uh, get your uniform first.” He points towards Funf, running up to him with something in her hands.

With a quick glance at everyone, he notices that they’ve all got shell necklaces around their necks, and Funf is in front of him tiptoeing, reaching up. Sarasa swoops in and lifts her to Six’s height, which is almost ridiculous, because Sarasa herself is rather short—but Funf looks happy enough as she puts the string of shells around Six’s head.

“Now we’re all pretty,” she says happily, and still on Sarasa’s head, they trot back to where they came from.

He stares at them walking away, down to the towels they have set up, and start talking as if nothing ever happened. Absentmindedly, he touches the shells around his neck, looks up quickly at Song and Siete’s similar ones, and then down at his own. No one here seems disgusted by the fact that Six has shown up, has been included. Funf had made exactly five necklaces, for all five of them, including Six.

He knows he’s always been on the fringe of the Eternals, always a blight of the radiance of the other nine. Over time, he’s allowed himself to be in other’s company, making the steps to be able to connect with people again, but it still comes as a shock to him that the others don’t mind his presence, taking the time to extend a few words with him and joke around. He finds it easier to respond, too, even if part of him will never not be scared of hurting others, wanting to push them away.

Siete is the one that nudges a plate into his hands this time, bringing him out of his thoughts. “You look like Song did last year when some of the girls offered to make her matching swimsuits,” Siete chuckles, but it’s fond.

Song smacks him on the arm. “Stop, don’t talk about embarrassing things.”

While the two of them are distracted, he turns away and rubs at his exposed eye with his free hand, feeling wetness on his fingers. Shortly after, Sarasa yells for all of them to _sit down so we can eat, already!_ and Song and Siete’s voices carry over to the blanket everyone’s sat down on. Six stays facing away, looking at the way the moonlight carves the waves that wash up onto shore, and brings his hand back up to his eyes to rub another tear away.

“Six!” Sarasa yells. “I’m gonna eat your portion if you don’t come here already, I’m _starving_ _!”_

He allows himself to smile, and then turns around. “I don’t think it’s possible for you to ever be sated.”

The sand is soft underneath his feet, and he feels like he’s floating as he walks back to the others.


	2. low tide

Six hears the words he didn’t know he dreaded the most until he heard them:

When everything’s packed up and they're ready to head back to the inn, Siete slings an arm around Song and Six and says, “Only thing better than a good meal is hanging out in the hot springs _after_ a good meal, eh?”

Six plants his feet in the sand and Siete’s arms effortlessly slides off his shoulder, not deterred by the motion. Song removes his arm from around her, but she does say, “Seeing as the hot springs are split, I’ll take up your offer.”

“Six?” Siete stops walking as well, a few paces in front of him, and the girls keep walking on ahead. He grins and sticks his hand out. “The springs are probably big enough that you can ignore me, I’ll try not to ruin your vacation more than I have.”

That’s the thing; again, for all intents and purposes, Six hasn’t had a bad vacation so far. And admittedly, the food has been fine, the company—the two minutes he spent with it—has been... good. He plays with one of the shells along his necklace.

The hot springs are a whole other beast altogether, for the sole reason that he’ll be in the springs alone with Siete. And the problem isn’t that he thinks Siete will do anything other than his usual shenanigans, but that he _won’t_ do anything at all, and leave Six to think about how physically close he is to the man.

Siete doesn’t look like he’ll move from the spot until he follows, and Funf hollers back at them to hurry up already, so Six reluctantly keeps on moving forward.

He lets Siete go into the showers first, waiting long enough until he thinks Siete is in the springs before he even walks into them. No one else seems to be here except their party, anyway, so Six strips down and washes his body off as fast as he can before he puts a towel around his waist.

This is already more skin then he’s used to showing, and he puts his entire mask on his face to cover it up, some way to mitigate the discomfort he feels about the situation. He knows he could turn around right now and it would really be of no loss to anyone, especially to Siete. But a small part of him wants to try and sink into the hot water, despite the fact that he hates the oppressive heat during the day. It’s the difference between wrapped in a blanket and walking into an oven, and he’s hoping that hot springs are more of the former.

He steps out and over the barrier, he can hear the girls chatting about. Siete is sitting at the edge of the springs, head tilted back and eyes closed.

“There you are,” Siete says lazily. Six watches his Adam’s apple bob when he talks and is struck with the urge to run away before he can reflect on the motion. “Thought you weren’t gonna show up. Cats and water and all that.”

He makes a disgruntled noise but otherwise walks to the water, sitting as far away as possible from Siete before sinking in. This has the added disadvantage of actually having to face Siete, who’s sitting in the water up to his chest, looking so comfortable it’s probably illegal. He peeks an eye open and looks at Six.

“Mask?”

“Stays.”

Siete hums and leans his head back, a perfect picture of relaxation. On the other hand, Six is still tense, every line of his body itching for a fight, or to flee—because he’s certainly not looking to _feed_ , and the last of the four biological F’s is absolutely not applicable. Not at all.

He doesn’t know if it’s the embarrassment that’s turning his face red or if it’s the way the steam is gathering behind his mask, choking him until he can barely breathe. He finally relinquishes the thing, puts it behind him, and sinks until only his eyes peek out the water.

The warm water at his face is actually rather relaxing. He closes his eyes and dips all the way under, ears still peeking out above the surface, moving them around experimentally. He holds his breath until he can’t anymore, and when he pops back up above the surface he shakes his head to clear it of water. Siete is looking at him with amusement, and embarrassed, he sinks until just his eyes are above the water line again, glaring in return.

They stare down at each other for a bit, and then Siete raises his hands to either side. “What, like what you see?”

He didn’t think his eyebrows could furrow any further, but they do. “The exit,” he grumbles, lifting his head above the water just enough to say it.

Siete laughs heartily and waves a hand. “Alright, alright, I’ll leave you be,” he says, “the water’s way too nice to do anything but sit, anyway.”

Blessedly, Siete remains quiet, and Six lets himself relax against the rocks, closing his eyes. The water is just warm enough that it keeps his mind on the sensation instead of letting his thoughts race.

The girls head out of the hot springs before they do, and Six can hear something along the lines of a sleepover, Song’s voice rising above all the others and talking about nail polish and face masks. “I didn’t think they’d be into masks,” Six says contemplatively, more to himself.

“Hmm?”

“The others. They were talking about face masks.”

Siete lifts his head and raises an eyebrow. “And?”

“I... didn’t think we had that in common.”

“I am almost ninety-nine percent sure that they meant exfoliating masks. Like, clay and charcoal and stuff. And cucumbers on the eyes.”

“Why would they... do that? You _eat_ cucumbers,” he says, frowning to himself.

“You wanna join ‘em?” Siete stretches his hands above his head, makes a content noise, and smacks his lips. “I think I’ve had just about enough here.”

It’s how Six finds himself in the girls’ room wearing one of the inn’s yukatas, lying near the wall of the room with his face covered in a different kind of face mask from the one he normally has on. He frowns, and Song clicks her tongue.

“Don’t frown, you’ll crack the mask.”

“What’s the point?” Six says. The hardening mask is already restricting some of his facial movement, so it comes out awkwardly. “This offers absolutely no protection, nor any sort of identity concealment.”

“For eggs-variation!” Funf says happily, getting her mask wiped off with the towel Sarasa is holding.

“Exfoliation,” Siete says, leaning against another wall. “Makes your skin baby smooth.”

“Hmph.” Still, Six stays still for the remainder of the recommended Funfteen minutes as the others start to congregate in the middle of the room. He feels awkward lying there, not doing anything while the others all do things together, but he doesn’t feel entirely left out, answering whenever someone fields a comment his way.

When the Funfteen minutes are over, he sits up and lets Song wipe off his face like she did all the others, and then she pats his cheeks with both of her hands. “Nice and fresh and soft,” she says, and Six closes his eyes, feeling himself turn red and his ears tilt forward. Song laughs and pats him on the head, feeling even more embarrassed when he leans forward.

Funf claps happily and walks over. “Oh, me too, me too!”

“W-Wait...” He trails off uselessly as Song’s hand is replaced by both of Funf’s small ones as she musses up his hair unapologetically. He sighs and lets her do what she wants, and before he knows it his head is in her lap as she tries and fails to braid his hair.

Her hands begin to slacken after a while and he hears a yawn above him, so he slowly sits up. “I should sleep, and so should you,” he mumbles, ear moving to the side when he sees Funf’s hand come up to pat him on the head again.

As he heads back off to his room, he pauses at the door, half open. He can feel everyone’s eyes on him, and he keeps his eyes on the ground, hand against the doorjamb, and then finally decides to say, “sleep well.”

“Ah, wait, I might as well join, I’m beat,” Siete yawns. Six, in fact, does not wait for him as he ties up his conversations, and he heads back to their other room and starts laying out the futons. He scratches his head and feels the knots of Funf’s braids in his hair, and he sighs, running fingers through his hair and shaking it out.

He’s still wearing the seashell necklace, he notices as he tiptoes to tug on the string of the light switch to the lowest light setting without turning it off completely. He takes the shells off and plays with each of them, turning them over in his hands, before placing it gently in his backpack among his clothes.

Nothing else left to do, he sits on the futon. He wonders if he’s placed them too closely, or too far apart, and it’s slowly leaking back into his consciousness that he’s going to have to spend the night with Siete barely arm’s reach away. In light of recent events, he’s not sure what to expect—not that Siete knows that Six was awake in the first place, or that he was staring, or that Siete himself was the reason he was so tense in the hot springs, or that he’d never truly minded having him alongside him at the tidal pools, or that past the initial grumpiness at having been woken up, part of him, however small, _liked_ that Siete had invited him to the beach with the Eternals, after all—

He hears the slide of the door from the girls’ room, and he stifles a frustrated noise turns just in time to see Siete walk into their own room, raising a finger to his lips. “They’re heading off to bed too,” he whispers lowly, closing the door behind him and sitting on the floor with his back against the wall. “You didn’t sleep a lot today, did you?”

Six swallows. “I slept.” He pats out the futons, pointedly looking towards them and not to where Siete is, leaning against the wall. Siete doesn’t answer and against his better judgment, he turns around to face him.

Siete is smiling, the way he did when Six tried to pretend to be asleep. “You’re a pretty bad actor, you know.”

He feels heat flash up his spine to his face, and he turns away. “How long were you aware?”

Siete shrugs. “I had a feeling, but I knew for sure when I was sitting and just waiting for the girls to come up and you were too quiet. Guess you _did_ see something you liked, didn’t ya?” There’s something mischievous in Siete’s voice, and he doesn’t like anything about it. Absolutely not.

“...You’re impossible,” Six grumbles, turning his attention back to the futons. He doesn’t turn around when Siete moves from behind him, but he’s forced to make eye contact when Siete lies down across the futons, right underneath him, like an invitation.

Six’s mouth feels dry, and he can’t look away even if he wanted to. He licks his lips and watches as Siete’s eyes flicker down to watch the motion and back up to him, shifting so he’s propped up on an elbow with their faces closer together, smile taking on a hint of challenge.

There are a variety of reasons he shouldn’t be doing this, and only a handful that tell him he should, and for once, he listens to the latter. Something about the time he’s spent with the others since he woke up in the early evening leaves him in want for more company, and Siete seems more than happy to give it at any opportunity.

He closes his eyes and presses their forehead together, feeling a sense of victory at the way Siete’s breath catches. Courage renewed, he presses their lips together, relishing in the way Siete immediately sighs into it, bringing his hands up on either side of his face. Siete shifts backwards, and Six follows the motion, on his knees and leaning down, not breaking contact. At a loss of where to put his hands, Six settles on moving his hands to Siete’s sides, feeling the warmth of his body through the thin material of the yukata.

In reality it must only be a few seconds, but it’s the most Six has ever done in his life, and when heat starts to stir in his body he turns away. He feels Siete laugh against the side of his head, followed by a kiss pressed into his hair. “I’ll take it.”

“Be patient,” Six grumbles, hands fisting against Siete’s sides. To his surprise, Siete’s back arches and he wriggles away. He raises an eyebrow and now Siete is the one looking away, turning red.

“Ticklish,” he mutters out as he props himself up on his elbows, still looking away and biting his lip. Experimentally, Six presses his fingers down further into his sides and the effect is immediate; Siete chokes out a laugh and tries half-heartedly to push Six’s hands away, but falling down instead, Six following. He doesn’t relent, and Siete squirms underneath him as his eyes begin to fill with tears from laughing. “Stop, seriously,” he laughs. Six knows if he tried he could easily push him off, but until that happens, he continues.

They must not be as quiet as they think they are, because Song comes back and slides the door open, eye mask perched on top of her head. “Can you—okay, never mind,” she says upon seeing them, immediately turning around and walking away, closing the door behind her.

The entire interaction takes about three seconds. Siete snorts. Six looks down at him, and it’s really only now that he takes into account the position they’re in; red-faced and bright-eyed, Siete with his back against the futon and Six’s hands gripping his sides. Smiling. Laughing. “She’s gonna talk about this in the morning, isn’t she.”

Six hangs his head between his shoulders, sighing. “I hope she doesn’t.”

Siete brings up his hands on either side of Six’s face and brings him in for another kiss. Six gets down on his elbows and lays halfway along Siete’s body, deepening the kiss despite not knowing whether he’s doing it correctly. For all intents and purposes, this is his first kiss; when Siete runs his fingers through his hair, he breathes in suddenly through his nose and he remembers that despite hyperbole, Siete definitely has experience in these things, and he breaks away again.

He sighs and leans into Siete’s hand, still playing with his hair. “Sorry,” he mutters under his breath and Siete’s face twists.

“Sorry for what?”

“I’ve never—done this. Any of it.”

Siete doesn’t respond, but his expression turns into something gentler, urging Six to move closer until their foreheads are touching again. “I don’t care whether or not you have, Six, just as long as you want to.” He kisses him gently again and then pulls away, letting Six chase the touch again.

One of Siete’s hands runs down his side and Six leans into the touch. It’s maybe one of the first times in his life he’s wanted to get closer to someone physically, craving contact rather than shying away from it, and he pushes himself up, slipping one leg between Siete’s.

His thigh brushes against something hard, and it’s not hard to guess what’s happening when Siete’s fingers tighten briefly in his hair and he pushes up against the contact, their kiss punctuated by a hitch of his breath. It’s Siete that pulls away, covers his face with his hands. Six watches his ears turn red.

He doesn’t know how to feel about the whole situation—he’s embarrassed, he’s a little surprised at the reaction he can elicit out of Siete, but overwhelmingly, an emotion he can barely understand in this context, he _wants._ Siete lets out a laugh from between his fingers, a little high pitched. “Now it’s time for _me_ to be sorry,” he says, kind of strained. “The tickling was a little— _hghk—_ ”

Before Six can lose his nerve, he moves so he’s straddling Siete’s waist and sits down in his lap, steadying himself with his hands on Siete’s shoulders.

“You sure about this? You look a little scared, y’know,” Siete breathes out, and Six lays down again so their bodies are flush against each other, nothing but the thin material of the yukata to separate their bodies. Six shuts his eyes and tightens his grip in the material, but opens them with a new determination.

Siete makes a noise before their lips even connect again. He bites down on Six’s lips and the sensation ignites something in him, who chokes out a moan into his mouth and presses deeper.

“Seriously, Six, you don’t have to if you don’t want to,” Siete says between feverish kisses, hands now gripping in his hair and at his waist. Six is getting whiplash at the concern in his voice with the way their hands are exploring, every grind of their hips against each other.

“If I didn’t want to, I wouldn’t have kept going,” Six says simply, as if the entire situation _were_ simple, as if he didn’t feel like he were about to combust under the attention of Siete’s calloused hands.

“I’m serious.”

“And so am I.” It seems like there’s only one way to ever get him to shut up, so Six starts kissing him again with renewed enthusiasm, their noses bumping. Siete breathes out through his nose and moves his hands down to rest on Six’s waist.

“Tell me to stop, any time.” He moves his hands from Six’s waist inwards, thumbs playing with the edge of the yukata. “Can I?”

The way Siete’s hands brush against his bare skin is new and electrifying and anxiety-inducing, and he wants more. The fire running through his veins craves it, and he nods into their kiss enthusiastically.

Still, slowly, Siete’s fingers slip under the material of the yukata, his touch barely feather-light as they sit where they were before. He can barely feel the touch, and he frowns into the kiss. “More.”

He feels Siete grin and break their kiss, looking up at him cheekily before pressing his lips along the side of his jaw, nipping at his neck. His touch doesn’t get any stronger, but he runs his fingernails along Six’s lower back, loosening the sash around his waist with the motion.

Six quickly slams his face down into the nape of Siete’s neck and muffles the groan that’s drawn out of his mouth, sinking even further down into the touch, bringing their bodies together. Siete’s laugh is shaky, and he continues the same action over and over as Six starts whimpering into his ear between little kisses.

“You’re so needy,” Siete says with a hint of wonder in his voice, and if he weren’t also so obviously affected by the action Six would hate him for it. Just to spite him, he lifts his head up to kiss him again, and when they’ve gotten back into a rhythm Six grinds his hips down against his.

Siete whines against Six’s lips, and—despite being successful—it has an obvious effect on Six himself, the friction drawing a moan from him. Siete’s hands are still under his yukata and he starts putting more pressure in the patterns his fingers draw against Six’s lower back.

Six brings his hands up from Siete’s shoulders to the side of his face and then into his hair and tugs, swallowing the moan that he lets out when Six scratches his fingernails scratch against his scalp, savouring in the way the grip along his waist tightens and brings them impossibly closer.

The sun beating down on him at the beach was unbearable; the warmth carrying through the breeze during his nap earlier today was a comfort; the heat he feels now is absolutely intoxicating, and he brings one of his hands back down underneath Siete’s yukata, lightly running his nails over his skin, an echo of Siete’s own actions earlier.

“Fuck,” Siete breathes into his mouth, voice breaking, and it’s Six’s turn to smile. “I keep telling you, I’m ticklish.”

He bites softly on Siete’s lips with one of his canines, scratching his nails harder down his side and grinding down. The keening noise he gets is high-pitched and _loud_ , and the two of them stop to look at each other for a second before looking at the shared wall between their room and the girls’.

There’s snoring coming from the other side, and it doesn’t seem to have faltered, so Siete breathes a sigh of relief and grins back up at him sheepishly.

Six isn’t a stranger to _urges_ , to the carnal feeling of desire, but those moments have been so few and far between in a life punctuated by guilt and anxiety that he didn’t think anything short of a miracle would have him feel these things again. But he’s been slowly learning to trust again, mostly thanks to those at the Grandcypher, and every time he meets with the Eternals again he brings something new with him, another part of his emotions unlocked and just the tiniest bit ajar.

In typical fashion, Siete is the one to blow those doors open. His persistence in Six’s recruitment and his investment in the improvement of his general quality of life, indirect as it may be, has gone unnoticed for him by far too long, and it wasn’t until Uno had told him that _Siete really wanted to get you out of the darkness_ that he’d even gone back to evaluate every interaction he’d had with the man, infuriating or not.

He’d relied on Siete. He’d learnt to rely on the people he was travelling with, skyfarers of the Grandcypher or the Eternals. But what’s happening now is _trust_ , and despite the blood running lava hot through his veins, every inch of his body wanting to touch, he’s scared to _trust_.

Six rarely operates on instinct, but right now it’s seeming like the most desirable option, to chase pleasure _now_ , so he starts to move his hands down to spread apart the material of Siete’s yukata, baring his shoulders.

Siete laughs quietly. “I mean, we probably should stop here if we don’t wanna wake them up,” he says, voice low and meant just for Six, and something in him lights up at the revelation that Siete is loud no matter what he’s doing.

“Then be quiet,” Six says, and he kisses again. Siete indulges him for a few moments before gently pushing him back up.

“Are you okay?”

The look on Siete’s face is full of concern, absolutely serious, and Six wonders if he’s that easy to read on top of being an awful actor. He thinks, for the first time since this started, that he wants to put his mask back on. “Are you serious?” Six asks anyway; he’s stopped his movement, but to his frustration, even he can tell his hands are trembling.

“I’m good—fuck, I’m _great,_ Six, but if you want to stop—”

“Have I given any indication that I’ve wanted to stop?” He presses little kisses against Siete’s neck to try and distract him, and even though Siete’s groaning, writhing under his attention, he gets pushed away again.

“Your hands are shaking,” Siete breaks off with a gasp. “And you said you’d never done this. Don’t push yourself. I’m happy if you are.”

Six buries his head in the nape of Siete’s neck again, trying to breathe. _I’m happy if you are,_ he says, and is Six happy right now? Turned on to hell and back, maybe, but _happy?_ The two of them have their streaks of philosophical contemplation—it’s practically a requirement for Eternals membership to speak cryptically—but _now_ , of all times, Siete is asking if he’s _happy?_

He looks down at Siete, yukata all but gone, lips cherry red and—with a bit of a jolt of realization—half-hard cock still pressing against Six’s ass from where he’s sitting in his lap. His hands are holding Six’s and his thumb is running circles against the back of his hand still, smiling gently up at him, and Six thinks, _I did this._ _He let me do this to him._

Siete _trusts_ him. Someone trusts him enough to let him do this to them, to be vulnerable and nothing but themselves, and he wants to know that Siete feels like in his hands right now.

He sighs and closes his eyes.

“Don’t even worry about it, we can stop if you want—”

“No,” he says, a bit louder and more forcefully than he expected, and he scrunches his eyes closed. Siete raises his eyebrows. “Let’s... I’m sorry. I don’t know what I’m doing.” That’s the other thing—as much as Six would love to keep going, watch Siete fall apart underneath him, he doesn’t know how to do it. He doesn’t even know what he himself likes, let alone what he’d want another person to do to him, and since Siete’s certainly had experience in this sort of thing, Six must look pathetic right now.

Siete lets go of one of his hands and goes to run a hand through his hair again, lightly flicking his ears, flat against the back of his head. “How ‘bout I do you right then?”

“You—what?”

Smirking, Siete points at his own mouth and then down to Six’s lap. Six covers his face with his hands at the same time his own cock twitches in interest, and he breathes out shakily. “Again, we can just stop—“

“Should I—should I lay down?” Six asks from between his fingers.

“Whatever’s most comfortable for you, but you can’t stay here,” Siete chuckles.

He puts his hands on Siete’s shoulders as support for when he kneels back up, the prospect of arousal making his movements sluggish. He lays with his back down against the futon, knees brought together, and Siete sits in front of him. Tracing patterns along the sides of his legs, Siete asks, “can I?”

“...Turn off the lights, first.”

“Aw, I wanna see you,” Siete whines good-naturedly, but he stands up and clicks the lamp off. It’s near a full moon, and the light coming in from the window is enough for Six to still cover his face with his arm, wanting to hide. Siete runs his hands against the back of his thighs up to his knees, and he asks one more time for good measure, “you good?”

Six nods, not trusting his voice. Siete’s hands move from the back of his thighs to between them, spreading them apart. Six curls his toes as Siete starts pressing little kisses from the inside of his knee up to the edge of his boxers, moving from one leg to the other.

Siete’s breath runs hot against his legs, and when Six feels him pull away, he tightens his legs instinctively to keep him here. “Jesus, you could crush me between these thighs,” Siete mutters between kisses, and Six’s breathy laugh turns into a choked gasp when Siete bites down, sucking and licking at the spot. “You work out?” he asks, and Six can hear the grin in his voice.

His hand curls in the sheets. “Shut up,” he says, eloquently. If he’s losing his grasp on language from just kisses, he doesn’t know what he’ll do now, when Siete mouths at his cock through his boxers; the arm he has draped across his eyes moves down so he can bite down on his knuckles, and he finally looks down at Siete.

Siete’s already looking up at him, hands moving up and down his thighs, smile still not having faded one bit. “You’re so receptive,” he breathes, and Six feels something electric run up his spine at the words. “This is so fun.”

“...Shut up,” he says, again.

Siete lowers his eyes and opens his mouth a bit before he stops, looking back up at him again. “Make me.”

It’s not that he doesn’t want this, and it’s not that he wants to make Siete do all the work, but all the attention on him is getting overwhelming, and it’s hard for him to think straight and truly, wholly admit that he wants this. Other than the confirmations of Six’s comfort, everything Siete’s said tonight has been worded like a challenge—maybe Six _is_ that easy to read, because it’s what gets him to go for what he wants, embarrassed he may be.

Six hooks both of his thumbs on the elastic of his boxers and pauses, looking at Siete. He’s been endlessly patient tonight, even though Six is _nervous_ , and for encouragement Siete kisses the inside of his thigh again.

“...Can you look away?”

“You know I’ll see eventually, right?” Siete says, closing his eyes anyway and sitting up by Six’s feet.

“But not now you won’t.” Making sure Siete’s eyes are closed, he slowly peels off his boxers.

Siete waits a few moments after Six has gotten settled again down on the futon, and still with his eyes closed, he leans back forward with his hands resting on the top of Six’s knees. “Should I keep my eyes closed?”

Six covers his eyes with his arms again, but moves his hips closer. “It’s... up to you.”

He knows Siete’s opened his eyes; he can feel his eyelashes brush against the inside of his thigh as Siete kisses his way back down, eyes closing with every press of his lips. He kisses against where the thigh meets hip, and Six’s hips buck at the feel of his cock against Siete’s cheek.

Laughing lowly, Siete steadies his hips with both of his hands, and then Six feels his breath, warm against the tip of his cock already slick with precome, and when Siete does nothing but press a kiss to the tip, his hand slams hard against the futon, so hard that somewhere in the back of Six’s hazy mind he thinks, if there were no futon there, he might have cracked the floor a little.

Siete only smiles to the small whine that comes out in contrast to the motion. “So _receptive,”_ he breathes again, and then he spits into his hand and starts stroking Six, from base to tip. It feels completely different when someone else is doing it to him instead of when he’s doing it himself, and every lazy drag of Siete’s calloused hand sets every one of his nerves on fire.

When the hand pulls away for more than a few moments, Six removes his arm from his hand to see what Siete’s doing so he can complain; instead, he makes eye contact with Siete as he wraps his lips around the head, winking at him before closing his eyes and taking all of Six’s length at once.

The inside of Siete’s mouth is impossibly soft and hot, and before he’s cognizant of it, Six is bringing up a hand to cup the side of his face, thumb running against his cheek. Siete opens one eye up at him and pushes Six’s hand into his hair.

Experimentally, Six tugs. Siete groans around his cock and the vibration causes him to buck his hips upwards, head falling back against the futon. It hasn’t even been very long since Siete’s started, but Six is so unused to the feeling after so long, let alone receiving from anyone else, that he can already feel the heat building in his lower belly. “S-Siete—“

Siete hums around his cock as an answer.

Six is desperately stifling his moans into his hand, but he manages to choke out, “I’m—I’m going to—”

Siete takes his as his opportunity to take Six to the hilt again, and with the tip of Six’s dick at the back of his throat, he swallows. Six bucks up, unable to fully contain the long whine that leaks out of his mouth as he shoots into Siete’s mouth, legs tightening around his head. His vision whites out and Siete’s mouth remains on him, giving him little licks.

The sensation turns into overstimulation soon enough, and so he unclasps his fingers from where they were pulling at Siete’s hair. Still panting, he lets his legs fall to the side and watches as Siete wipes come off the corner of his mouth with a thumb and licks it.

“Guess you’re the hand-to-hand combat master of the Eternals for a reason,” Siete laughs, “with the grip you had on my hair, I didn’t think I’d ever be free.”

He stretches his fingers out from where they’re resting on the futon and looks away. “Sorry.”

“No, no, I mean that in the best way possible—you good?” Siete asks, sitting back between Six’s legs cross-legged and hand on his chin.

Six has never felt as relaxed in his life as he does now; he’s gotten the good kind of tension with the good kind of release, and he can barely keep his eyes open as his breathing starts to steady. “Mm.”

“I’ll go get you cleaned up then,” he stands with a grunt, and Six notices that his voice is still heady with arousal, but mostly that Siete is trying to tuck himself in so he’s not walking around the inn with a tent out his yukata.

“Do you—want me to help?” Six says.

“Only if you want to.”

Six pats the futon next to him and Siete follows. He sits up languidly and looks up at him. “...What do I...”

“You could just kiss me while I get myself off,” Siete offers.

Six feels like his mind is still in a haze, and the second their lips touch again he melts into it, draping his arms around Siete’s shoulders. He can taste himself on Siete’s tongue, and Siete slips one hand under Six’s yukata before moving the other one down to his own.

He bats the hand away and presses his own against the front of Siete’s boxers, before slipping underneath and giving it an experimental stroke. Siete’s other hand fists in his hair and he gasps up into Six’s mouth; “a li’l faster,” he mumbles, and Six is more than happy to oblige.

It doesn’t take long for Siete to come either, all over Six’s hand and against his abs. Like Siete had done for him, he strokes him through until he’s gently pushed away.

“Okay, I’ll clean up,” Siete says, both of their kisses becoming more languid, and it’s with effort that Six breaks away from the kiss to let him stand up. He looks down at his hand and licks at it; the taste is strong, salty, and he makes a face.

Siete must notice, because he laughs and presses another kiss to his lips. “Don’t force yourself.”

The door closes behind Siete and Six is left laying on the futons, with nothing but his breathing and the chirp of insects outside as company. From the room next to them, he still hears uninterrupted snoring, and he breathes a sigh of relief.

Siete comes back with a wet towel and starts wiping them down. When he gets to the inside of Six’s legs, he presses against some of the marks he made and Six nudges him with his knee. Siete looks up at him expectantly, but doesn’t say anything.

“What now?”

“I sure took the spirit outta _this_ sword, am I right?”

Six immediately puts his boxers back on and crawls under the futon, kicking Siete and his pleased laughter away.

* * *

(When Siete finally crawls into the futon next to him, Six is half-asleep. He feels the kiss pressed against the top of his head, between his ears, and a muttered goodnight, before Siete turns around so their backs are flush.

Waiting until his breathing seems to even out, Six turns over slowly and hooks an arm and a leg around his body, kissing at the nape of his neck. Siete’s hand comes up to hold his, lacing their fingers together, and pulls Six tighter against him.)

* * *

The sun is shining bright through the window of their room, and the heat is already starting to creep in; it’s like this that Six wakes up, curled up against Siete’s chest, with an arm slung around his waist. It wakes him up immediately and he gets up on his elbows, nudging Siete and waking him up in the process.

“Morning, sunshine,” Siete yawns, smile spilling sweet like honey across his face.

He doesn’t know the etiquette of this sort of thing, and he doesn’t know what they’re supposed to talk about it now; it’s obvious that the mess he’s untangled from his own brain called _feelings for Siete_ are reciprocated to some degree, and he wants whatever is between them to be very clear.

Frowning, he opens his mouth to start forming a question, when the door to their room slides open. Six jumps away and curls up under the sheets again, covering his head. He hears Song sigh from the doorway and this time she actually walks up to them, judging by her footsteps. She sits cross-legged on the futons and sighs.

“I don’t actually care what you—look—okay,” she says, taking a deep breath, wincing, “I don’t really want to ask this but are you, uh... using protection? Do you... need anything?” She leans in a bit closer, eyes looking between the two of them, switching her voice to an even lower whisper. “Do you need condoms? Listen, this is more for Six then it is for _you,_ Siete, you better not be doing anything to him—”

“I’m right here, Song,” Six says weakly, muffled into the futon.

“Well,” Siete says, keeping his voice just as low, “I’m glad you asked, because I’d love to save rupees if you’re offering.”

Six isn’t sure whether he wants to die or strangle Siete.

“Never mind, you’re on your own,” she points at Siete accusingly. She makes the motion to stand up, and then with a second thought, she plants her hands on the futon and frowns at both of them. “You know, you’re lucky the other two are deep sleepers. I can’t take three more nights of this. Please, behave.”

As she walks away, Six wills the ground to open up below him. Siete lets out a rowdy laugh and slaps the floor, but not before his own face flushes red.

**Author's Note:**

> me: i was at a beach for an entire week and wrote all that siesix and none of it at the beach i should write something quick and cute  
> brain: **engage horny**
> 
> thanks to:  
> \- noelle, who enables me constantly and gave me the ending bit with song, as well as "what, see something you like" / "yes, the exit"  
> \- jun, who [drew fanart of the horny](https://twitter.com/Istlyja/status/1001791394120282113) and actually saved my entire life


End file.
